An Ode to 20 Something 20-Somethings


(Courtesy of Hunter Benegas / The Fordham Ram)

Sitting down to write this, I have not a singular clue how I ended up in a Ram interest meeting my freshman year. Seriously, zero idea. What I do know, and what I am sure of, is that there is no place that feels more like home on campus than McGinley B-52.

For those of you who don’t know, B-52 is the office where we normally produce our beautiful newspaper. B stands for basement. 

We’re a motley crew hiding under the stairs of McGinley. You can often hear the chorus of Justin Timberlake’s “SexyBack” echoing from the print shop, bellowing laughter from the copy table and the phrase our staff knows too well, “can you finish your websheets,” coming from my mouth. 

Each week, 20 something 20-somethings leave all their worries behind as they trudge into the depths of McGinley while it’s still light out, knowing it will be long past midnight when they retreat. 

I often think about how different my life would be if I didn’t end up on the staff of the Ram. The pros: I would have probably attended Tuesday night Beer Hall karaoke more than once over the past four years. The cons: I would have never found the group I can only describe as better than most. 

B-52 is a safe haven for us all. It’s our special corner of the world where we cast spells on WordPress and create magic each Tuesday night.

Our nights were filled with the most outrageous conversations, our mouths filled with copy table candy and, of course, groundbreaking journalism. 

The Ram holds a piece of me that I don’t think I’ll ever effectively be able to put into words. I have never really been a writer, and I’m still not. Instead, I worked on this paper as a digital producer for two volumes, and in my final volume I worked as multimedia director. I wrote my assigned articles each volume, always incredibly insecure of how they would match up to the rest of the articles that blew me away week after week.

I wrote about interesting people, cool music and, one time, even rain. But week after week, I would tweet, post to Facebook and Instagram and make sure that all of our content was formatted correctly on our website. 

I think now is the perfect time to admit that I one time accidentally tweeted “I miss Obama” from @thefordhamram instead of my own personal Twitter account. But I won’t apologize because I deleted it almost right away, and it was honest. You should always be honest.

Anyway, I have never been a writer. But at The Fordham Ram, I have been part of something bigger than myself. I’ve been a piece in a puzzle that doesn’t make sense until it’s completed. I might not even be a writer, but The Fordham Ram made me shout, “read the Ram” for the past four years, and that should say something. 

The Ram entered my life at a time I thought my world was ending. I had my first week of production freshman year the same week that my younger brother started chemo for cancer. Being a freshman in college can be as tough as it is on its own. But I found a family on campus. I found an escape in people who hardly knew me, and who soon came to know too much about me. The Ram saw me through my highest highs and my lowest lows. Because of the Ram, I found sunshine in our dark little basement office on sad days, and I laughed with these people on days I didn’t think it was possible. I am forever grateful for the support system that the Ram gave me over the past four years, whether they knew it or not.

There is a different type of sadness leaving the Ram in a year like this. Senior year is usually filled with lasts and goodbyes, and nothing can prepare you for a goodbye you never get to have. Writing this From the Desk is an acknowledgement that my time with The Fordham Ram is almost over, and that’s terrifying. 

I am not one to ever sit with sadness. We might be living in darker times which equate to remote production, but that will never outweigh all the late-nights and important news we delivered. So instead, let’s take a walk down memory lane.

I’d like to say I was a doe-eyed freshman, but I was definitely just an over-caffeinated 18-year-old with a loud voice. I’ll never forget how nervous I was each week to walk into a room of the most impressive people I had ever known. It scares me even more now that I’m in their position. Even on the quietest of nights, B-52 has always been filled with palpable excitement and empty pizza boxes if you got there too late.

Looking back at my first volume on the Ram, it’s impossible to feel like I haven’t grown up. To think I ever nervously texted Helen Stevenson, our now editor-in-chief, to walk to a Ram gathering together, is a gentle reminder at how fast time flies. 

My favorite part about being on the Ram has always been its people, and with that I must begin my thank yous, which are so long they could be confused with a grocery list. 

To the seniors of Volume 100, thank you for inspiring me. You put some faith in me, and I hope I made you proud. 

To the seniors of Volume 101, thank you for being patient with me, especially while I was on a different continent for the latter half of our volume. 

To the staff of Volume 102, thank you for being so resilient and rolling with the punches. I am so proud to work on this wonderful paper each week with you.

To my co-digital producers, Erin and Katie, I could not have done any of these past years without you.

To the executive board, Helen, Andrew, Kelly, James and Max, it’s been such an honor to serve with you all. I am more and more impressed with you each week. 

To my fellow seniors, thank you for growing up with me. We did it.  

And to everyone I’ve ever worked with, thank you for finishing your websheets. Can you fill out the briefing now?